Let's get one thing straight: we don't have any answersWe are proposals in a cosmic nurseryAnd these massive stars -- they're just little twinklesIf I can't possess them at such magnificenceSo if you can really hear me,And you think you really believe in itThen there must be some kind of privilege hereTo putter around with such an existenceAnd if you see me on some stageAnd you really believe it's me over thereWell, there's a chance it's not really meMaybe we're not ourselves at allAnd maybe being is simply believing that each breath we take inMust lead to another breath out, one more breath yesterdayFrom yesterday -- and a timeline of yesterdaysFilled in with love or with pain or whatever bullshit we smear on our sleevesI've found my cause, and this is it There are no answers